


come join the youth and beauty brigade

by revolutionaryfury



Category: As You Like It - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Allegorical, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancing and Singing, Drag Queen Audrey, F/F, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Falling In Love, Forest of Arden, Freedom, Genderbending, Implied/Referenced Recreactional Drug Use, Love is Madness, M/M, Magical Realism, Multi, Multiple Relationships, Trans Male Character, Underage Drinking, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionaryfury/pseuds/revolutionaryfury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Forest of Arden, anything is possible. </p>
<p>-A tale of adventure, love, and madness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come join the youth and beauty brigade

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy hey! So, everyone who knows me in person knows how much I love old Willy Shakes. I was just in my high school's production of "As You Like It" and I played the role of First Lord. Despite the fact that I'm a girl (most of the time!) and usually present as a girl, I decided to play him as a male. This sparked a thought in my head - what if I connected the role I played (a flirty girl in the court) with the First Lord? Could they be the same person? And BAM - it came to me. The Lord is a trans boy! 
> 
> One of our directors, a total hippie, posed this question to us to help us with our characterization: What do you find in the forest? What does Arden give you that you love so much more than the Court? What The Lord finds in the fairy land that is the forest is freedom and acceptance. Freedom to be who he really is and the happiness that comes with it! Acceptance from his friends and love!

Fleur had known them since childhood. There was a time when they had been an inseparable foursome – herself, her twin Marie, beautiful Rosalind, and tiny Celia. Ah, the hours they had spent together in the courtyard, the orchard, Rosalind’s cozy private chambers, and Celia’s massive library. Those hours had been some of the happiest of Fleur’s life. How freeing it had been to languish with girls her own age. To lie wrapped in each other’s arms while they talked of God, of fortune, and of falling in love.

                Fleur and her twin had known, of course, that they were unlike Rosalind and Celia. The twins were daughters of a minor nobleman, Guillaume Montulet, while Rosie and Lia were duke’s daughters, born and bred in riches. This was not to say that she and her sister hadn’t lived opulent lives; they had a large family in a decadent house. Luckily, despite his riches, Père was an honest and frugal man, not a selfish ninny like Duke Frederick, Celia’s papa. Despite all of this, Fleur and Marie were still “lesser” than their friends. When the adults were around, they were forced to refer to their friends as “My Lady Celia” and “Miss Rosalind,” much to the chagrin of all the girls.

                Duke Senior was a good man, unlike his pompous brother. He had raised Rosalind to be a humble and kind girl, despite her privilege. He was like a second father to Fleur and had been since she was no more than a blonde speck. Her own father and the duke had been friends since childhood in the boarding school that they’d attended together. Gee and Searle they had been called then, and they had been inseparable. When Searle, now Senior, had become rich, he’d helped his old friend gain notoriety within the court.

                Fleur and Marie were the firstborn daughters of Guillaume and Suzette Montulet, and they’d just kept having children. The duke and his brother hadn’t been so lucky, as Frederick’s wife left him and a six-year-old Celia after a salacious affair and Searle’s wife had been taken by the fever when Rosalind was but two.

                Fleur and Marie loved Rosalind and Celia like they were sisters. A rift had grown, though, and it had happened thus:

                _Fleur had been sixteen for a day and filled with an inner poison of the evilest kind for a year. It sat in her stomach, this poison, begging to be let free. The Bad Thing nearly burst from her throat the second she awoke. It whined to be told as Marie entered her chambers and wished her a good morning.  The Bad Thing clawed against Fleur’s closed lips when she watched Père and her twelve-year-old brother, Guillaume Jr., get dressed in their hunting attire. It fought against her flagging mind like a wild beast when Maman gave her a love-filled smile before departing to feed their youngest sibling, little Laetitia._

_How tiring the last year had been, with this Bad Thing constantly screeching, “Open your mouth, silly girl! Speak of me! Horrify those you love!” From dawn to the darkest hours of the night this Thing begged, whined, screamed to be spoken of. It cackled with perverse glee in the Poor Times of day, namely at undressing. It shrieked with laughter when Fleur crossed her arms over her bosom, trying in vain to push her breasts back into her body. Its hysterics increased tenfold when she cried in shame over her body, wishing...wishing…_

_“I must tell you something!” Fleur blurted. She was with Rosie, Lia, and Marie, lounging in the orchard after a brisk horse ride. The knackered beasts were tied to fruit trees and grazing. She clapped her hands over her mouth, but The Bad Thing had already forced its way from her mouth. There was no way of stopping it._

_“Dear Blossom,” Celia said, putting a dainty hand over Fleur’s, “what troubles you?” Celia was perhaps the smallest and most beautiful creature in the world, a fairy come to life. She was small and pale, with cheeks red as apples and bushels of curly brown hair. Her crooked smile shone brighter than the heavens. “You mustn’t be afraid to tell us,” she added, noting her friend’s silence._

_Marie and Rosalind looked up in concern. Rosie was tall and slender, with eyes dark as pitch and long brown hair. Her skin was olive and flawless. Marie, on the other hand, was a queen of ice. Her skin was whiter than snow, her eyes bluer than the sea. Her hair was of the palest yellow, thin and soft. Marie was a near-silent girl who looked as if she would break apart if the wind blew too strongly. But she knew her sister better than she knew any living thing._

_“What troubles you?” Marie whispered in her porcelain voice._

_“A…a…bad thing,” Fleur answered. “Something that has been haunting me for a year.” She looked up, past the bright green leaves of the fruit trees, through their latticed branches, and into the brilliant orange of the setting sun. It cast crisscrossing shadows across her hollow-eyed face. She saw her friends’ eyes widen with alarm. “I cannot explain it without sounding mad,” she confessed, balling her fists in the sea-blue material of her dress._

_Rosalind smiled wryly. “Then we’ll each divulge some secret about ourselves, my fellow flower. To give you some comfort before you confess.” With that, she said, “When I was a child, perhaps seven, I was furious with my papa. I cannot remember why now. I filled his riding boots with horse shit!” She snorted at her friends’ horrified looks. “Yes, I’ve cursed! Lord help a poor sinner like me! Oh, it will be much worse before I am done telling you this. Papa blamed a young stable boy who had always been a roustabout lad. I let the boy take the blame!” With that Rosalind doubled over cackling until she wiped tears from her eyes. “And now you, Marie.”_

_Marie smiled and leaned back against a tree. “I do believe I’ve found a man to marry,” she murmured._

_“Go to!” Celia cried, taking the girl’s hands. “How could you not have told us, you wicked girl? Who is this man? Is he tall? Is he fair or dark? Oh, please tell me he’s a dashing youth and not some old balding grandfather! Oh, but does he have a smile that rends your soul in two?” She sighed. “You lucky thing, Snow Queen!”_

_Marie chuckled quietly and shook Celia off. “Hush, you. His name is Colley Newcastle, and he is an Englishman. His father is a writer. A distinguished one at that. He is twenty years old and is asking Père for my hand in a month’s time.” She turned to her twin. “I sincerely apologize for not telling you sooner, Fleur. I was worried you would think me a slut.” Her eyes, blue and pale as glass, pleaded with Fleur to forgive her. Despite the lightheartedness of Rosalind’s confession, the twins shared a grim communication._

_Fleur, though her insides felt weak as water, mustered a grin. “You are no slut, my Marie. I am happy for you. If this Colley Dog doesn’t treat you well, I’ll make myself a warm fur coat!” The four girls laughed and laughed._

_“Oh, my turn!” Celia cried suddenly. “My secret isn’t quite as debauched or romantic, but I do like to consider it a good one! When I was fourteen, I raised a brood of kittens in my chambers as if they were my own children. My papa, that dastardly villain, drowned the mother. He intended to do the same with the kits, but I saved them just in time. Their names are Artemis, Apollo, Juno, and Athena. Good cats, though Apollo’s appetite for his sisters is insatiable.” Celia shuddered and smirked. “It does well to keep that one from the rest.”_

_“Ah,” Rosalind said wryly, “I now understand why your rooms always smell of–”_

_“Hush your mouth!” Celia squawked, flapping her hands at her cousin. “I will not have you cursing. We are distinguished ladies, after all.” With that, she gave a very unladylike snort._

_And then the three girls, the Fairy, the Snow Queen, and the Rose, turned to the Blossom. Fleur felt as if she would like nothing better than to die as she whispered, “I desire to be a man.” She was met with nothing but silence. “I do not want this body. This…” She gestured at her bosom, her curves. “This figure. It displeases me. I…I hate it. I do not want to wear the weeds of a woman, nor the body of one.” She felt tears running down her face as she admitted, “If God granted me but one day as a man, I would take it. If God said, ‘Fleur, I shall grant thou thine man’s day, but thou shalt die the day after!’ I would die happily.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “There. I am laid bare to you.” She looked up to the sky, awash with orange. Soon, stars would appear, milky and sweet. It was what Maman called a lover’s night, soft and innocent and sinful in secret._

_But now the sin was right there in front of them._

_The Bad Thing cackled in Fleur’s head. “I’m free now, silly wench! Oh, how they will spurn you.” It lifted itself off the grass, that terrible poison, and danced with delight. “Stupid girl! Or shall I refer to you as Stupid Sir? Youth?” It giggled and snarled and spun, puffed up and on display for Fleur’s closest friends on God’s earth._

_“Fleur,” Celia said in a voice as small as her stature, “do you jest?” Her lion’s mane of curls looked different somehow. They were still copper-colored, still burned in the dying sun, but they looked smaller somehow, limper, as if the girl were hiding in them._

_Fleur shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I do not jest. Though I hate myself for it, I am grim as the grave.” There was a lingering silence before Marie shook her head slowly._

_“No,” she said sternly, “no, Fleur. I will not have it. You are a woman. You are my sister and our father’s daughter. We are not children anymore! We are too old for such games, such immaturity.”_

_“How dare you?!” Fleur suddenly screamed. She could not stop herself. The Bad Thing was free, and the words came pouring from her like water from a dam. “I have just laid my soul bare for you. This secret has been poisoning my very being for a year now. Every morning when I awake, I would I was dead. The sight of my body makes me want to rip myself into pieces. The only time I have peace is when the four of us are together. How dare you act as if this hellish experience is some children’s game? I am not pretending, you ruinous girl, I am_ broken _!” She stood up and began to tear at the dress she wore, sea blue swatches falling in the grass around her._

_Rosalind leapt up and grabbed Fleur’s arms, holding them still. “Peace, peace, Blossom!” she cried. “Hush yourself, hush.” She attempted to calm her friend, though by now it was too late. The Bad Thing was out in open air, and it always would be. This dastardly, evil Thing had done so much evil. It had driven a permanent wedge between two sisters and made two intimate friends look at Fleur as if she were sin incarnate or perhaps some gibbering loon._

_Fleur looked into Rosalind’s beautiful face and sobbed before yanking herself away. “I am damaged, Rosie,” she whispered. “Give me leave and I shall go. I shan’t bother you ever again.”_

_Marie nodded emphatically. “So you are,” she said coolly. A queen of ice she truly was that day. Her glare was as hard as a glacier, her disgust cold as sleet. “You have shamed me.”_

_Rosalind wrapped Fleur in an embrace, shooting a glare of fire back at Marie. “You are heartless,” she hissed. “Fleur has divulged her greatest secret to you and you treat her like Lucifer. Leave us, Ice Queen. Go marry your Colley Dog and live a happy, prudish life. Do not come here until you can love your sister however she is.”_

_Celia drew herself up to her full height – that of a child, nearly – and glared fiercely at Marie. “Yes, leave us,” she growled, and took Fleur’s hand._

And so it went. Fleur spent her sweet summer afternoons with Rosie and Lia. They talked of simple things. God and fortune and falling in love were subjects best left untouched, they decided. They languished in Celia’s library most days, reading thick tomes older than Methuselah and discussing them afterwards. Those soft, sunny days were peaceful as Celia’s brood of cats dozing in a spot of sunlight.

                And yet.

                Tension underplayed each peaceful second. Fleur’s anxiety about returning home to Marie’s icy gaze hung in the air, heady as a flower. Rosie’s tension with Duke Frederick heightened as the days blew by. Poor little Lia tried in vain to keep everything together.

                In early May, Marie became Mrs. Colley Newcastle. By late June, her stomach had swelled. It was murmured about with disgust and a bit of bemusement that perhaps the Colley Dog had been in heat a few months _before_ the wedding. Marie Newcastle, despite her special bit of shame, still spurned her twin. She did not permit her husband to speak to Fleur and excused this by saying that Fleur was truly a shameless flirt and had set her sights on Colley. Just like the dog he was, Mr. Newcastle lapped this story right up.

                One day, the agonizing tension snapped. It came in a flurry of shouting and swearing and broken hearts. Duke Frederick banished his brother and all of his allies from the royal court. Off Duke Senior went, trailing the sweet musician Amiens, a few lords, and a fellow with an interesting air of melancholy about him. The old villain soon after banished Fleur’s father and all the males in her family – fourteen-year-old Mellin, twelve-year-old Guillaume Jr., and even Mayhew, who was but seven.

                There was a great deal of sobbing when the four left, from poor Suzette, the twins, even two-year-old Laetitia. “NO, PAPA!” Laetitia wailed when Guillaume departed, tears streaking his face. Even Mellin wept, not quite as grown as he pretended to be. They were a row of lookalikes as they left. Each man, eldest to youngest, walked slowly to their horses with their shoulders slumped, hair ranging from gray to the softest blonde. Guillaume Sr. and little Mayhew mounted the same horse, a dapple gray mare called Mina, and Mellin and Guillaume Jr. mounted a white mare called Luda. They rode off with tears falling freely down their faces, four brokenhearted females behind them.

                The next fortnight was agonizing. Fleur had never been so completely and utterly alone. Marie and the Colley Dog stayed far away and Maman was occupied with Laetitia every second. Since the men had gone away, little Laetitia had become terrified to be left alone. It was no wonder Fleur sought solace in Rosie and Lia. But Rosalind was occupied mourning her father’s departure, and poor Celia desperately fought for her own father’s affections.

                And so it went by that lonely way, until a wrestling match occurred.  

               

               

 


End file.
